


The Still and Quiet Surface

by stevieraebarnes



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Ficlet, Gen, Gift Fic, Human!Jason Todd, Merman!Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/pseuds/stevieraebarnes
Summary: Dick leaves the sea behind and never looks back.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	The Still and Quiet Surface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWayneManner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWayneManner/gifts).



He takes his first shaky steps on the rocky beach.

His feet, calves, and thighs hold strong and his arms stop pinwheeling; he’s content to hold them out like rigging to keep him steady. The rocks are jagged and a new sensation for him, so different from the smooth fluidness of his past home. He doesn’t regret accepting the curse; his parents died long ago leaving him as a burden for his pod. He had nothing left back there in the shoal, nothing that would satisfy his curiosity, his natural longing to fly farther and farther. He took the curse. Grew legs. Slipped his kelp fetters. And now he’s pricked himself on the sharp rocks beneath his sensitive feet.

He takes a few more steps, gaining more and more confidence, until he feels certain he’s adapted to his new environment. He looks behind him, at the crashing gray sea, then back ahead of him, to the towering cliffs. And then he does what any mercreature turned human would do: he puts his legs to work and climbs the cliff face before him.

The cliffs are shale, limestone, and red rock which make for a loose, crumbly mixture in addition to the stain on his bare skin. But he makes it up the cliff side and onto the safety of beach grass that looms over the abyss from its steady, flat perch. He stands up, _stands! He still cannot believe it!,_ and keeps walking inland. The sounds are crisp and instant instead of the slow, pulsing communications he’s used to. And the smells! Some are wet and sharp and pungent, while others are dried and aged so much the smell has almost withered away. But they all travel around him, pushed along and resuspended by the air. And by the people he sees in the distance.

_People._

Well, he sees one person really. Or focuses on. There are others there, background coral as far as he cares. One man has exchanged goods with another man tucked behind a small structure and turns to walk off with his prize kept secret in a white paper bag. He’s tall and powerfully built. His rich, dark hair sweeps back in a familiar way; he’s seen other merpeople style their hair similarly with the water currents and a sea comb affixed just so. But then this man turns some more and stops when he sees _him_.

Their eyes lock and he knows this man is his future. From his sloping, broad shoulders, to his beautiful face; this man is the future that he wants. And as they stare at each other for just a moment, he sees the man’s eyes are a familiar stormy green color. His own shoal used to appear that way when he would swim to the surface and look back. He feels the future and the past coalesce; the man feels like home, even when home never did.

The man keeps his gaze as he starts to walk towards him. He takes long, purposeful strides and the merman has only a moment to wonder if he should be doing something, if he should respond a certain way, when the man stops before him and holds out his jacket. He prompts the jacket again when the merman does nothing but stare, and motions for him to cover himself.

“It’s cold out and you're naked,” the man says to him.

“Oh. Right. You’re right! I didn’t even think!” He accepts the jacket, then holds it out in front of him, trying to remember how the land dwellers wore these types of articles. He peeks at the clothing artfully draped on the man before him.

The man tilts his head at his actions, a bemused expression occupying his face. “You didn’t even think to get dressed before walking amongst the people?” He clasps the white bag that smells of food he’d traded only a moment ago between his teeth then grabs an end of the jacket and ties it around his waist, securing a knot at his hip for modesty.

“I didn’t think about needing clothes before deciding to live on land.”

“Uh huh," the man says through still-clenched teeth. He drops the bag into his empty hands then asks, "What's your name, sailor?"

"Dickon. But you can call me Dick."

"No shit. You really are a throwback." He holds out his hand, the one that had held out the jacket to him. "I'm Jason."

Dick mimics Jason's gesture, hand held steady in front of him. The man laughs at the attempt and moves forward to grasp his hand and shakes them up and down. 

"There you go," Jason says then draws back his hand. Dickon misses the comforting warmth, the intimacy of being with someone, knowing someone, and concentrates on the man's jacket wrapped around him. Jason continues, "So, what? Been at sea for awhile, then?”

“Almost. Deep in the ocean would be more correct.”

“Deep in the ocean. What on a tugboat or rig or something?”

“No. _In_ the ocean.” He motions with a hand _down_ , then huffs when Jason doesn't seem to understand. “Under the sea??”

The man stares. “And you, uh, just happen to speak the same language as me under the sea?”

“I speak all maritime languages.”

“Of course you do."

Dick points to the bag. “What’s that bit of food in there?”

Jason opens the crinkled paper and tilts it forward for Dickon to see. “It’s a chili dog. You want some?” He pulls out the sausage and chili dripping from a bakery bun, then tears the monstrosity in half and offers one hand out.

The merman takes the proffered half and takes a bite. His eyes widen at the flavor and he eats with fervor.

"Guess you were hungry then," Jason comments and Dickon nods.

Jason watches him closely until Dick runs out of chili dog to eat. Then he hands over his half, too.

"Thank you," Dick says after a bit and he stands there, waiting. What for, he's not sure, only that he knows he doesn't want to say goodbye, that he wants to follow this Jason anywhere. 

Jason lets out a soft sigh and holds out his hand. "C'mon, stranger. Let's figure out what to do with you. Unfortunately, I’ve been trained to take home strays and orphans.” Jason gives Dickon a considering look. “You don't happen to know a guy named Arthur Curry, do you?"

Dick shakes his head _No_ and slips his hand in Jason's. He follows him home.

—

_If we tire or dread the surge:_

_Land the solid and safe—  
_ _To welcome again (confess!)_  
_When, high and dry, we chafe_  
_The body, and don the dress._

“Amphibian” by Robert Browning

**Author's Note:**

> Dear, dear waynemanner! I loved your prompt for naive merperson Dick Grayson and had to write this little fic for it. One day I hope to expand on this, especially since I've never written mercreatures before! But until then, please accept this gift as thanks for your inspiration!! <3


End file.
